A great man in our Israel? Fallen, while thy loins were girded still, The breezes from the Frozen Sea With winter's arrowy keenness pass; The same mysterious hand which gave And blessed for thee the baleful dew Of evening upon Eimeo's shore, Beneath this sunny heaven of ours, Midst our soft airs and opening flowers Hath given thee a grave! His will be done, Who seeth not as man, whose way Is not as ours!-'T is well with thee! Nor anxious doubt nor dark dismay Disquieted thy closing day, But, evermore, thy soul could say, "My Father careth still for me!" Called from thy hearth and home - from her, The last bud on thy household tree, The last dear one to minister In duty and in love to thee, From all which nature holdeth dear, Bound in the spirit, yet unknowing The things which should befall thee here, Whether for labor or for death, In child-like trust serenely going To that last trial of thy faith ! Oh, far away, Where never shines our Northern star On that dark waste which Balboa saw He bent his mailed knee in awe ; And Honolulu's silver bay, Were strengthened and refreshed by thine, For, blessed by our Father's hand, Was thy deep love and tender care, And they who drew By thousands round thee, in the hour Silence before Him, might renew Their strength with His unslumbering power, They too shall mourn that thou art gone, That never more thy aged lip Shall soothe the weak, the erring warn, Seals of thy true apostleship. And, if the brightest diadem, Whose gems of glory purely burn Around the ransomed ones in bliss, Be evermore reserved for them Who here, through toil and sorrow, turn Many to righteousness, May we not think of thee, as wearing Farewell!. And though the ways of Zion mourn New witnesses for Truth shall stand- The Gospel of a risen Lord; To gather to the fold once more, The desolate and gone astray, The scattered of a cloudy day, And Zion's broken walls restore! And, through the travail and the toil Of joy for mourning, unto her ! So shall her holy bounds increase With walls of praise and gates of peace: So shall the Vine, which martyr tears And blood sustained in other years, With fresher life be clothed upon; DANIEL NEALL. I. FRIEND of the Slave, and yet the friend of all ; Like some grey rock from which the waves are tossed! The faith of one whose walk and word were rightWho tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought, And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white : Prompt to redress another's wrong, his own Leaving to Time and Truth and Penitence alone. II. Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan, A true and brave and downright honest man! He blew no trumpet in the market-place, Nor in the church with hypocritic face Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace; Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will What others talked of while their hands were still: And, while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried, His daily prayer, far better understood In acts than words, was simply DOING GOOD. So calm, so constant was his rectitude, That, by his loss alone we know its worth, And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth. Sixth month 6th, 1846. TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER.* THINE is a grief, the depth of which another Yet, o'er the waters, O, my stricken brother! I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding With even the weakness of my soul upholding I never knew, like thee, the dear departed; When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted And on thy ears my words of weak condoling The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling, Sounds over all! * Sophia SturgE, sister of JOSEPH STURGE, of Birmingham, the President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the 6th mo. 1845. She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. The Birmingham Pilot says of her: "Never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beautifully blended, than in this excellent woman." |